“It’s Mr. Waite.” Miss Arthur ushered Maisie and Billy into her wood-paneled office neighboring the entrance hall. “Of course, he sends apologies, many apologies, but he has been . . . called away urgently . . . on a business matter.”
Miss Arthur was not a practiced liar, Maisie noted. She frowned. “I see.”
“I tried to reach you, but I expect you had already left,” the flustered secretary continued.
“Not to worry, Miss Arthur. Of course I have much to report to him.”
“Yes, yes, he expected that. He asked me to attend immediately to any interim bills you may wish to submit. For your services.”
“That is very kind.” Maisie turned to Billy, who handed her a brown envelope, which she in turn handed to Miss Arthur. “Perhaps I can make an appointment for next week?”
“Indeed, Miss Dobbs.” Miss Arthur stepped quickly to the other side of her desk, reached into a drawer and pulled out a checkbook and ledger. She glanced briefly at the bill, and commenced writing a check while still speaking to Maisie. “In fact Mr. Waite said to let you know that he’s reviewed your previous conversations and he’s satisfied with your progress. He trusts that you will be bringing Miss Waite back to the house in the fullness of time.”
“A bit of an about-turn, Miss Arthur?” Maisie was suspicious of the fact that both Charlotte
Miss Arthur did not respond as she continued to sign the check in her small, rounded hand. She slipped the check into an envelope that she passed to Maisie; then she looked down to complete the ledger entry before reaching for a substantial desk diary. “Let me look at his diary. How about next Wednesday? At noon?”
Maisie nodded at Billy, who noted the time on an index card.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to inform Mr. Waite that I expect to be in a position to make arrangements for Miss Waite’s return very soon.”
“I understand, Miss Dobbs. We are all very anxious to see her back home.”
“Yes.” Maisie looked sharply at Miss Arthur, who seemed intent on shuffling the papers on her desk. She had always thought that Miss Arthur, along with the other members of Joseph Waite’s household, dreaded Charlotte’s return. What was the secretary keeping from her? Was Charlotte already in the house? Had Waite located his daughter and dragged her home? But, if so, why conceal her whereabouts from Maisie?
“I’ll summon Harris to show you out.”
“Thank you, Miss Arthur.”
Maisie and Billy were almost at the door when Maisie turned to the butler. “Is Mrs. Willis available? I just want to see her for a moment.”
“She’s taken an afternoon off, Miss. Mind you, she may still be in her quarters. Shall I summon her?”
“Oh no, I’ll quickly knock on her door, if that’s all right. I saw her at the bus stop in Richmond recently, and wanted to offer her the occasional lift.” Maisie began to move as she spoke, which she knew would subtly pressure the butler into acquiescing.
“Of course, M’um. Follow me.”
“Billy, wait for me in the car, won’t you?”
Billy hid his surprise. “Right you are, Miss.”
Maisie was escorted along a corridor that led first to a staircase giving access to the lower floor, then, once downstairs, continued to the side of the house. The property’s design, though intended to give the impression of an older architectural style, was actually modern. The staircase leading to the kitchens was wide and airy, the apartments for senior staff spacious. This house had been designed to give owner and servants alike a measure of comfort unknown in times past.
Harris knocked on an eggshell-gloss-painted door. “Mrs. Willis? Visitor for you.”
Maisie could hear movement inside; then the door opened to reveal the housekeeper, who was patting the sides of her head to calm any stray locks of hair. She wore a light amethyst woolen day dress, with a narrow white collar and cuffs, and was still kneading the leather of one of her black shoes with her heel in an attempt to get it on her foot without having to stoop in front of her visitor.
“Oh, this is a surprise.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Willis.” Maisie turned to Harris. “Thank you for showing me the way.” He bowed and left, as Maisie turned again to Mrs. Willis.
“May I come in?”
“Of course, of course. I am sorry. I don’t get visitors, so do pardon me not being ready to receive a guest.” Mrs. Willis beckoned Maisie to follow her into the immaculate sitting room. A small settee and matching armchair were positioned to face the fireplace and a gate-leg table, one flap folded to fit neatly into the limited space, was placed near the wall, the highly polished wood reflecting a vase full of daffodils that stood on a lace doily. A series of photographs sat on the sideboard by the window, which offered a pleasing view to the gardens at the side of the house.
“May I offer you refreshment, Miss Dobbs?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Willis.”
“Do sit down. I expect you’ve come to make arrangements for Miss Waite coming home.”
“Actually, Mrs. Willis, I came to see you.”
The woman looked across at Maisie, her eyes wide. “Me, Miss Dobbs?”
“Yes. I hope this isn’t a cheek, but I saw you in Richmond last time I visited a dear friend. He’s being cared for
